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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28339674">La Bella Memoria</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulfireInc/pseuds/SoulfireInc'>SoulfireInc</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Badass Dani Powell, Belladonna - Freeform, Bright just wanted tea, Brightwell, Emotional Whump, F/M, Hallucinations, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Martin Whitly's A+ Parenting, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:22:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,150</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28339674</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulfireInc/pseuds/SoulfireInc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm and Dani go to question a witness and it does not go well. But on the bright side, Malcolm finally figures out how their vics are being killed, so, it's not all bad?</p><p>Bad Things Happen Bingo: Hallucinations.</p><p>Discord Kris Kindle for the wonderful reader_writer_traveller &lt;3</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Bright &amp; Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright &amp; Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright &amp; Jessica Whitly, Malcolm Bright &amp; Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>La Bella Memoria</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedi_are_you/gifts">jedi_are_you</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is for the wonderful and beauteous reader_writer_traveller – happy holidays my dear! I love you and you're a huge nerd and here's the boy seeing horrible things that aren't there. I specifically found a poison known for "threatening, dark, demonic, devilish, hellish, very frightening, and profoundly terrifying" hallucinations, so, mwah!</p><p>Happy holidays to everyone else and I hope you're all safe and I send you all hugs and nose boops &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How sure are you about this guy?” Dani groaned, her breath misting against the ornate, frosted door knocker.</p><p>            Malcolm shot her a grin, his hair flopped across his forehead. He raised a hand to tuck the strand back behind his ear. It was getting annoying enough that he might actually listen to Gil’s insistence that he go home and attempt sleep soon. It’d only been a few days since his last nap.</p><p>            “Pretty sure. He’s a solid lead. Knew Paese and Biondo, at least in passing, and if he remembers anything concrete about them, anything that ties them to Cavaliere, it’ll be momentum.”</p><p>            Dani looked pointedly up at the old brownstone, her expression unconvinced. “That’s one hell of an if, Bright. Sounds like you’re reaching to me.”</p><p>            His smile faltered. To hide it he raised his arm and knocked again, following his falling hand to stare at his shoes. The oil in his chest spread further, dampening his sluggish heart, coating already struggling lungs.</p><p>            “Hey, I didn’t it mean it like that,” Dani said softly.</p><p>            Malcolm nodded, feeling her eyes on the side of his face but unable to meet it. Four days and three known victims and he hadn’t even figured out the poison yet. His profile was incomplete, just fragments, impressions of a fascinated, sadistic mind. Someone who delighted in witnessing fear. Witnessing pain.</p><p>            It wasn’t enough.</p><p>            He wasn’t enough.</p><p>            “Bright.” Dani’s tone was a hook under his lip and he couldn’t resist the tiny smile, looking shyly up to meet her determined, utterly focused gaze. It was hard not to marvel at her when she looked at him like that. Like she saw <em>him,</em> not just what he did. Not just the name he hid.</p><p>            “Listen,” she said, her voice frank with the straight-forward sincerity his anxiety had trouble finding handholds in. “You’re used to solving cases like that.” She snapped her fingers, quickly returning her gloveless hand to the safety of her pocket. “But some cases? They’re <em>slow. </em>They take time. You know this. We just – ” she shrugged, pursing her lips in a humourless smile – “don’t have enough facts. Enough clues. We need –”</p><p>            A loud <em>clank</em> interrupted her and as one they turned to the wide black door just as it opened, revealing a short man with thinning hair and thinner lips. He glanced between them, a delicate line creasing his olive skin.</p><p>            “Yes?” he asked, one hand wrapping uncertainly around the door. “Can I help you?”</p><p>            “Mr Ciliegia?” Dani asked, reaching for her badge.</p><p>            Irritation replaced apprehension. “It’s <em>chi-</em>lee-eh-ja. <em>Chi.”</em></p><p>            Dani glanced to Malcolm, that slow, placating smile she only ever needed with witnesses taking over her expression. Malcolm bit his cheek and dipped his chin, willing himself to stay professional.</p><p>            “Right, I’m sorry. I’m Detective Powell, this is Mr Bright. Can we ask you a few questions? About your work at the Botanical Gardens?”</p><p>            Something flickered across Mr Cigielia’s face, so quickly Malcolm wasn’t sure he identified it correctly. It could have been fear, but at what? Detectives didn’t handle immigration issues, but anxious immigrants wouldn’t necessarily know that. More likely it was grief over two students in the Gardens’ programme dying recently. You didn’t have to be close to someone to mourn them.</p><p>            The Girl’s waterlogged face flashed behind his eyes, her cramped body frozen in time.</p><p>            He rolled his shoulders, cricked his neck. Tuned back in and followed Dani into the house. Wrenched his mind back to the job. To the case.</p><p>            The hall was laid with a thick black carpet woven with rich crimson, a tapestry of berries and leaves given subtle definition underfoot. Mahogany chests of drawers lined the corridor, each boasting grand vases of stunning bouquets, while the walls were interspersed with oil paintings of gardens, scenes Malcolm recognised from Shakespearean plays, and light fixtures so skilfully crafted they rivalled the beauty of the artwork they illuminated.</p><p>            Malcolm caught Dani’s disbelieving eye and raised an agreeing eyebrow. How did a botanist afford all this?</p><p>            Mr Ciliegia brought them to a drawing room that was just as extravagant as the hallway, and only a few degrees below what Malcolm’s own mother would consider normal.</p><p>            “Beautiful home you have here, Mr Ciliegia,” Dani prompted as she sat by Malcolm on a couch that was far too expensive to be comfortable. The kind of thing Malcolm had grown up around, not on.</p><p>            “Thank you,” the Italian said, his accent the barest hint chasing the syllables. “This house has been in my family for many years.”</p><p>            “But you’ve only moved here recently?”</p><p>            Ciliegia levelled Malcolm with a disdainful glare, his thin lips almost disappearing as they pursed. “I entered this country <em>legally</em> six months ago, yes.”</p><p>            Malcolm narrowed his eyes slightly, searching past the Italian’s indigence. “I didn’t mention illegality.”</p><p>            “Not explicitly. But it’s what you meant, isn’t it?”</p><p>            Malcolm huffed a smile. “No, actually. See,” he said, sitting back on the couch, letting his arms spread out in apparent comfort, “I tend to say what I mean. Gets me in trouble, actually. <em>A lot.</em>” He grinned, utterly at ease. Waited for Ciliegia to blink.</p><p>            “Well like I said Mr Ciliegia,” Dani said, clearly trying to cover the awkwardness, “we just wanted to ask you a few questions.”</p><p>            Ciliegia turned deliberately to face her. “About the Gardens?”</p><p>            “Yes. Specifically about two of the students who enrolled in programmes there. Valentino Paese and Gino Biondo. Did you know them?”</p><p>            Ciliegia shrugged. “Not well, but I met them, briefly. I don’t teach but they both came to my greenhouse, independently, to ask a few questions for essays.”</p><p>            “What were the essays about?” Malcolm asked quickly.</p><p>            “Ah, one was about genetics in the orchid family,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “The other … Paese asked about a genome of fungi. But I am remiss,” he added quickly. “I have not offered you anything. Tea?”</p><p>            “Um, please.” Malcolm smiled.</p><p>            “Ciliegia nodded and rose from the couch. When he had gone, Dani turned to Malcolm. “Sooo, you’re getting weird vibes from this guy too, right?”</p><p>            “Oh, definitely. But I can’t – I’m not sure what it is about him.”</p><p>            “Well he’s lying about knowing the vics.”</p><p>            “For sure.” He lowered his voice. “He’s deflecting like crazy, but –”</p><p>            Footsteps cut him off.</p><p>            “I do not keep chamomile or earl grey but I hope you like it,” Ciliegia said as he set the tray down on the coffee table between them. “It’s naturally sweet, but help yourselves to sugar.”</p><p>            “Thank you.” Malcolm reached for a softly steaming cup of a gentle rose liquid and dumped in two teaspoons of sugar. The spoon <em>clinked</em> to the saucer and he took a sip, the tension in his shoulders easing minutely as warmth raced over his tongue. He hoped whatever this tea was had a high concentration of caffeine.</p><p>            “Do you remember what else you spoke to Paese and Biondo about?” Dani asked. “How long you knew them for?”</p><p>            “Oh,” Ciliegia sighed expansively. “Not more than a few hours, truly. They were interesting enough conversations, but hardly groundbreaking. They were undergraduates. Their questions were compelling but not insightful. I don’t remember them. They were polite but not memorable I’m sorry to say. They were nice young people.”</p><p>            “Did you –” Malcolm took another sip of tea, sating his suddenly dry tongue. “Did you ever come across Isabella Cavaliere?”</p><p>            Ciliegia turned to face him, the movement oddly disjointed, almost buffered. He blinked hard, the room abruptly painfully bright. He stared at the Italian’s lips and willed the sounds warbling through the air to resolve themselves into coherent words. He looked down to the cup in his hands. The red liquid. He licked his lips, focusing on the tart, cloying sweetness underneath the sugar’s softer taste.</p><p>            Edrisa’s tox report rose with pristine clarity amid the haze quickly clouding his mind. The poison that had killed two undergraduates and a supplier. Active agents atropine and hyoscyamine. His heart fell backwards down his chest as what should have been obvious finally fell into place.</p><p>            Beside him, a world away, Dani spoke, reaching for her tea.</p><p>            “Bright, you good?”</p><p>            “Dani,” he mumbled, his speech already slurring. His pulse was already pounding uncomfortably through his throat. “Don’t drink that.”</p><p>            Her hand diverted from the cup to his shoulder, steadying him as he leaned drunkenly to the side.</p><p>            “Bright? Bright, what’s wrong?”</p><p>            He blinked slowly, needing to concentrate to breathe. He focused on Dani, finding her eyes and anchoring himself to them. Breathe. Explain.</p><p>            “Belladonna. The poison.” Somewhere, someone moved. Dani’s hand tightened and he opened eyes he never meant to close. “Run, Dani.”</p><p>            A bang rent the world apart and Dani’s steadying presence vanished. Malcolm fell back against the couch only it wasn’t a couch, it was the firm back seat of the sedan as it bumped and rocked over the trail and his father was smiling in the front seat and a deep <em>freezing</em> terror kept Malcolm in his seat because <em>he must not turn around</em>. He must not look at what was in the trunk.</p><p>            At <em>who</em> was in the trunk.</p><p>            A hand – cold and huge and far too strong – grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the car – or off the couch – and he landed on hard ground, his breath knocked from him, his heart beating so fast he couldn’t hear over it. Hands scrabbled over his chest, the Girl’s, furious and vengeful – his father’s, manipulative and controlling – his own, desperate and frantic and his breath was machinegun fire, a cascade of shattering glass.</p><p>            He saw her. He saw his father haul her from the trunk, barely conscious and near naked. He watched him dump her on the shore of the lake and gesture Malcolm over, watched his father’s big hand wrap around his own, felt the lake’s cold water rush in to drench his socks.</p><p>            “Come on, my boy!” his father said, that beaming smile warring with his will to bolt. “Grab hold and help me.”</p><p>            More hands pressing into his chest as his hands, overlaid with his father’s, so much bigger than his, pressed into the Girl’s until her passive face disappeared to the murk of the lake.</p><p>            Another concentrated explosion that might have been confined to Malcolm’s chest. His throat was raw but he couldn’t hear the scream that should match the pain. All he could hear was his father’s voice.</p><p>            “Don’t pretend to care so much, Malcolm,” he half-sneered. “You knew how this would go. That’s why you told me you found her. That’s why you asked to take her on our little trip. That’s why you asked me for the knife.”</p><p>            It was slick with blood in Malcolm’s hand, a wound that matched the killing cut weeping freely from her throat, coating his hands, his clothes. He shook his head, the pain in his throat cracking under strain he still couldn’t feel, but his denial was mute as his bravery. His father stepped closer, smiling ever wider, eyes alight with a relish it took Malcolm four years of determined work with Gabrielle to understand was pure delight in Martin’s power over his son.</p><p>            Malcolm jerked back to the sound of his father’s laugh, recoiling into a taller body, an older, weaker mind. The body at his feet bore the same wounds, the same blank, dead look, but the skin was darker, the wet hair curlier, the open lips fuller.</p><p>            This time, he’d killed Dani.</p><p>            He was going to kill Dani.</p><p>            Someone was calling his name, only it wasn’t his name. His name was Whitly, and the word ringing through the air around him was a nickname born of Jackie’s favourite song, a beacon of a future self she and Gil never seemed to doubt he could be, a Malcolm that was brave and kind and <em>sane.</em> One that wasn’t a killer. One that didn’t have Dani’s blood on his hands, one that wasn’t cradling her cold, still corpse. One that didn’t have his father’s voice in his ear, very minute, laughing, mocking, whispering, <em>reminding.</em> One that was not cloaked in a suffocating darkness that could never be defeated, only fought, day after day, hour after exhausting, inexhaustible hour. One that was –</p><p>            <em>“BRIGHT!”</em></p><p>            The forest dissolved and Malcolm was shaking. The knife shrank to a scalpel and Dani’s corpse morphed into Ainsley’s, dissected into a replica of the Surgeon’s eleventh victim, her good, untainted heart held cold in Malcolm’s steady hand. Exhilaration lurched in his gut and his father laughed in delight. Malcolm jerked away from phantom hands and his own violence, unable to shut his wide eyes and erase the horror of his sister’s death, but as soon as the thought occurred she vanished. He turned and he was in his mother’s living room and she was sprawled on the couch which was upholstered in blood and her eyes were open, staring through him, an empty bottle of gin held in her broken hand.</p><p>            “She’s gone my boy,” his father murmured over his shoulder, his voice like velvet, soft with false compassion. “What will you do without her? She’s the only one who understood, wasn’t she? Who cared, even if it was too much? The only one who’d try to help. Who knew what it was to be destroyed by <em>the Surgeon.</em> Too bad you destroyed her too.”</p><p>            Malcolm reeled, his protest choking in his throat, or maybe that was his breath, or something else, or maybe he was ten again, unable to speak past the hugeness of his world, the enormity of the spectres that shifted in his chest, taking up so much space there was no room for breath, never mind words. But if his family was dead, what was there to say? What use were his words? What use was he? He was falling into blackness, sucked down, down, getting heavier and heavier, his automatic struggle growing weaker.</p><p>            He’d promised Gil he wouldn’t do this again. But did a promise matter when the person you promised was falling back from the gun in your hand, the wisp of smoke from the barrel mirroring the trickle of blood from the bullet in his forehead? What was a promise when you’d broken something so much worse?</p><p>            Malcolm’s father gave a victorious shout and what little vestiges of strength kept him connected to light and air and memory winked out of existence and the darkness finally claimed him.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>            The gun blasted past Dani’s ear, ringing deafness into her world and ripping through her hair but she didn’t flinch. She held on to Ciliegia’s wrist, forcing his hand into the floor until the gun clattered away. His vitriol was lost to the shimmering in her ears but all the attention she could spare was centred on Bright’s frantic, panicked half-screams somewhere behind her. She adjusted her grip on Ciliegia’s arm and wrenched it sideways, forcing him onto his stomach and grabbing her cuffs with her other hand. Shoving him sideways with her knee she dragged him over to the ridiculously expensive-looking fireplace and hooked the cuffs through the grate before locking them around his hand. Sparing half a second to ensure he was properly restrained, she ran to Bright.</p><p>            He’d fallen off the couch and forced himself into the wall, clawing at his chest and throat, accidentally tightening his tie so much he was half choking. His eyes were wide with unbridled terror but Dani knew from a glance he wasn’t seeing the grandly decorated room. His pupils were dilated so far they were almost entirely black, searching wildly to follow horrors she couldn’t see. His skin was pink from his nails scoring along it, his breathing sharp and shallow and intercut with painful, high-pitched half-words that made his episode in his bathroom after the incident at Estime’s sound <em>cheerful.</em></p><p>            She knelt as close as his kicking legs allowed. She snapped out her phone and called a bus, then Gil.</p><p>            “Bright? Bright, can you hear me? You gotta calm down. Bright? Bright!”</p><p>            “No, no, <em>no, no, please,</em> I didn’t mean to<em> I didn’t – please!” </em>His words were so slurred she had to concentrate to understand them past the thrumming in her ear.</p><p>            “Bright it’s okay, I need you to breathe –”</p><p>            <em>“I didn’t want this!”</em></p><p>            “I know you didn’t, just –”</p><p>            <em>“I’M SORRY!”</em> he screamed, back arching as he covered his face with one arm, the other lashing out at whatever Dani couldn’t fight for him. She edged closer, reaching for his arm and squeezing. He jerked away, gasping so hard she half expected him to exhale blood. “No, I – <em>Dani I’m sorry!”</em></p><p>            Fear broke her uncertainty and she leant forward, ignoring his fists and grabbing his shoulders, drawing him to her. She held him close, whispering reassurances she wasn’t sure he could hear, let alone understand. He was flushed, trembling so hard she had to hold him tighter, ignoring his fists and nails as they scrabbled against her back in desperation to escape whatever he was seeing.</p><p>            “My sister,” he gasped, sounding like he’d been stabbed. “My little sister – no, no, no, no, my – I don’t – I was meant to protect – <em>Ainsleeeey noo –”</em></p><p>            “Ainsley’s fine, she’s fine Bright, she’s at work. It’s okay, I promise!”</p><p>            She didn’t know anything about belladonna. She couldn’t just punch him out this time and wait for him to come out of it. She needed help. His pulse was so fast under her fingers, racing faster than his thoughts on a case.</p><p>            <em>“MOMMA!” </em>Bright wailed against her, a long, keening note that seared into her heart. <em>“Momma don’t leave me!”</em></p><p>            Dani held him tighter, closing her eyes and focusing on the heat of escaping tears so she didn’t have to feel her friend breaking against her.</p><p>            “It’s okay Bright, Jessica’s okay,” she said loudly and clearly, diverting all energy into holding him together and keeping her voice steady. “I’ve got you, Bright. I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s not real.” She swallowed. Held him tighter. <em>“It’s not real.”</em></p><p>            It was worse when he went quiet. Too quickly. In the space of one breath he went from the frenzy of a caged animal to utterly still, utterly silent. She pulled back, cradling him to see his face. His eyes were open, staring blankly through her, eyes still unnervingly black.</p><p>            “Bright?” Nothing. “Can you hear me?” Nothing.</p><p>            She pressed her fingers into his neck. His heart hadn’t slowed. It pounded on. His breath had quieted but it was still short, sharp, thimblefuls gasping past his lips.</p><p>            “Bright, it’s okay,” she whispered, suddenly afraid to break the false calm that had overtaken him. She raised a hand to his cheek, his forehead. He was flushed, feverish. “You’re okay. Just, deep breaths, take deep breaths, okay? It’s not real, you’re okay. I’m here, Bright.”</p><p>            The last of the tension left him in a sigh and his eyes slid shut as he went limp in her arms.</p><p>            “Bright? Bright!” She shook him, rapped his cheek with her palm, pressed her fingers into his pulse. It was still fast, far too fast. “Goddamnit, Bright.”</p><p>            A hand appeared on her shoulder and she jumped, reaching for her gun and clutching Bright closer.</p><p>            “Dani! Hey, it’s me!”</p><p>            She let out a painful breath. <em>“Gil!” </em>Goddamn ear. “Please tell me you brought a bus.”</p><p>            Gil turned his worried gaze from her face to Bright’s and forced an unconvincing smile.</p><p>            “I always bring one when Bright’s on a case.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>            The hospital room was dark before Bright woke up. The recessed lighting was warm and gentle, oddly comforting for a hospital, but Dani supposed that’s what untold riches got you. Apparently belladonna made you photosensitive, so soft lightning was a good thing. But by now it should have been flushed out of Bright’s system. Not that he’d bounce back straight away. It was a pretty fancy poison. He’d be here for at least another day, provided the idiot didn’t discharge himself again.</p><p>            Dani looked up from her phone. He’d been resting peacefully enough for the last hour, but his forehead was glistening faintly in the soft glow. She tucked her phone away and plucked a tissue from the box by the bed and stood. He’d graduated from an oxygen mask to a nasal cannula a few hours ago, but his mouth was open now, his breathing a little heavier than it had been when she’d started the article on her phone and her heart sank. She hoped this was a normal nightmare, not influenced by the lingering horrors of belladonna hallucinations.</p><p>            She dabbed the sweat from his forehead and dumped the tissue in the trashcan. Hesitated before sitting down. Reached for his face, for the worried crease marring his expression. Smoothed it gently with her thumb. Then turned and went to the window, shaking her hands and ignoring the warning fluttering in her stomach that she did not have time for.</p><p>            She peered through the blinds and wrenched her thoughts away from the boy in the bed and back to the precinct. To whether JT and Gil had wrapped up Ciliegia’s case yet. Tied him irrefutably to Cavaliere. If Edrisa had confirmed Bright’s diagnosis.</p><p>            A desperate gasp behind her had her whirling around and she was back at Bright’s side before he was fully awake.</p><p>            “Bright. Bright! Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.”</p><p>            “Dani? Dani – where – what –?”</p><p>            “You’re in Westview, you’re okay, it’s okay. Just breathe for me, yeah? Deep breath.” She placed a strategic hand over his IV port.</p><p>            He nodded at her, his bleary eyes slowly clearing.</p><p>            “Ciliegia,” he murmured.</p><p>            “We got him. JT and Gil have him. He’s our guy.”</p><p>            He nodded again, sagging where he sat. Dani reached for the bed remote and it whirred into a sitting position. Bright smiled in thanks and lay back. Exhaustion clung to him like an aura. His chest rose in slow, deliberate heaves, falling too fast. His eyelids drooped but he refused to let them close, staring doggedly at the ceiling as though every blink was the lash of a whip.</p><p>            Dani knew the feeling.</p><p>            “You wanna talk about it?” she asked gently, resting her clasped hands on the edge of the bed, conveniently but non-threateningly near his hand.</p><p>            He turned his head slightly in her direction but his gaze only brushed passed hers.</p><p>            “Was it that bad?”</p><p>            She almost managed not to snort.</p><p>            “Yeah. Yeah it was that bad.”</p><p>            “Sorry.”</p><p>            She shook her head, smiling wryly.</p><p>            “You don’t have to be sorry, Bright. It wasn’t your fault. Besides,” she gestured to her phone in her pocket. “I Googled belladonna hallucinations. They’re known for being pretty terrifying – for everyone. And Edrisa did the math, those cups had lethal doses. Two more sips and you’d be dead.” She kept her gaze on her twisting fingers. “I’m not saying you were lucky, nothing about what you went through was lucky, just … I’m glad you can taste poison through all that sugar.”</p><p>She shot him the biggest smile she could manage – which was miniscule – and he tiredly returned it. He dragged his hand along the rough sheet to hers and squeezed it.</p><p>“Thanks for being there.”</p><p>“Ha. Didn’t think you knew I was.”</p><p>He shrugged one shoulder. “But you were.”</p><p>She bit her lip to keep her grin in check but let the soft warm in her chest bloom unpruned.</p><p>“I’ll always be there, Bright. We’re friends.” She shrugged one shoulder, shifting to hold his hand properly. “Partners.”</p><p>His breath hitched slightly and she kept her gaze on their hands. His fingers tightened around hers and she hoped he couldn’t see her blush.</p><p>“Thank you Dani.”</p><p>The sincerity in his voice broke her composure and she looked up. His eyes were back to their strikingly bright selves and bore into her with naked gratitude. She looked away quickly, unsure how to interpret the churning in her gut and unwilling to try.</p><p>“Listen, Bright,” she said, frowning slightly. “I just … I just want you to know, if you need to talk about … what you saw?” She looked up at him, her emotions schooled behind a mask perfected on the job. “I’m safe for that.”</p><p>He considered her, and she recognised the automatic response fade behind his eyes. Something in him softened and he nodded.</p><p>“Thank you. I … I don’t want to. Not now. But … I’ll keep you in mind.”</p><p>She smiled at him, feeling the last of the tension that had constricted each breath since he’d told her not to drink the tea ease away.</p><p>“Good. Now, <em>you</em> missed lunch and since you haven’t eaten in, what, a week? I figured I should grab you something.” She turned away from him, leaving one hand in his and digging the other into her bag by her chair and pulling out the handful of jello pots she’d bribed the orderly for and dumped them on Bright’s stomach. His whole face lit up like the little kid he still was and Dani couldn’t stifle the answering laugh.</p><p>
  <em>“Lime!”</em>
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